All things conditioned are unstable, impermanent, fragile in essence, as an unbaked pot, like something borrowed, or a city founded on sand, they last a short while only. They are inevitably destroyed, like plaster washed off in the rains, like the sandy bank of a river - they are conditioned, and their true nature is frail. They are like the flame of a lamp, which rises suddenly and as soon goes out. They have no power of endurance, like the wind or like foam, unsubstantial, essentially feeble. The Sage knows the beginning and the end or consciousness, its production and passing away - the Sage knows that it came from nowhere and returns to nowhere, and is empty of reality, like a conjuring trick. The Sage knows what is true reality, and sees all conditioned things as empty and powerless.